This year marks my first Mother’s Day. As we’ve struggled to
start our family the last three years, I’ve wondered what this day would
finally “feel” like once—if—we finally got there. As I sit here furiously
clickity-clacking away on my laptop (64 minutes until the Tagalongs’ next care,
63 minutes, 62 minutes …) four days before the big day, I’m having a hard time
viewing it as a special day. In my mind, it seems like any other Sunday.
I’m sure that exhaustion plays into part of this. The
Tagalongs are on a three-hour schedule 24/7, so my sleep comes in rounds of
naps that are rarely longer than an hour each. When you average two to three
hours of sleep a night, it’s hard to muster up excitement for much of anything—except
sleep.
I’m sure my Mother’s Day Wall plays an even bigger part.
Three Mother’s Days passed during our IF journey—three Mother’s Days in which I
clapped at church mothers’ recognitions with a glazed expression and clenched
jaw and plastered a smile on my face during family get-togethers. In a twist of
irony that would be included in an Alanis Morisette song, I
spent last Mother’s Day going through my second, and what would turn out to be
last, egg retrieval. I sent out the requisite “Happy Mother’s Day!” texts and
then avoided social media like the plague as I lay in bed wondering if the seven
eggs my RE had retrieved were turning into tiny humans. I spent three years
setting up a wall that would make Mother’s Day hurt less, so I imagine that
taking it down won’t happen in one day.
And it’s the Mother’s Day Wall that makes me want to make
this day not about celebrating my first Mother’s Day but about celebrating
women—particularly those who won’t celebrate Mother’s Day this year despite
desperately wanting to. I’d like to dedicate my first Mother’s Day to the women
who are donning an unflattering hospital gown and surgery hat as they shake
back egg-retrieval jitters. To the women who have “mom” written on their heart
but don’t officially bear the title yet. To the women who aren’t sure they’ll
ever bear that title. To the women who’ve mourned the loss—any loss—of a child.
To the women who choose not to have children—you have a special kind of brave
that I admire and respect. To women everywhere, regardless of motherhood status
…
I don’t mean to take away from what Mother’s Day is
about. Having worn the shoes of motherhood for 14 weeks, I think moms
definitely deserve their own day (or several). However, I also know that
Mother’s Day can be a difficult holiday for some, a holiday that alienates them
from a group they long to be in. I’ve felt that alienation, that pain and
frustration and anger, and I don’t want to be a source of it for others.
So Happy Women’s Day to you and yours.
Note:
A friend sent me the following blog post around this time
last year. It got the writing wheels turning in mind.
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